Alone plus The Sequel
by KeepingAmused
Summary: WillDjaq & the gang. Inspired by season finale - "I will never leave you, Will Scarlet". Now, the sequel regarding the outlaws' future starts at CHAPTER 3! AllanAnnie WillDjaq and my OCs
1. the pain of fate

"I will never leave you, Will Scarlet."

Every roll warning of her exotic tongue, every fluid movement of her nurturing hands and every one of her teasing smirks swept through Will's memory. Not even a cart of solid gold or England itself could replace the foreign body breathing heavily in the mass of woollen blankets. This couldn't be happening. But, after the cruelty she had already experienced in her life, she was suffering.

"Sometimes I wonder why Allah does this," Djaq forced a weak chuckle through the sheen of sweat. Her dark hands were shaking in Will's tight clutch. He was never willing to let go of her, not even to leave the forest unaccompanied, let alone have her suffer in an empty room.

He frowned. "No God or Allah is taking you anywhere, Djaq."

She arched her back as the sharp rip of blistering fire errupted through her spine. The blinding pain was more aggressive than any guard or nobleman she had ever physically battled; she had no way of attacking or diving away from the blow of heat. The utter helplessness of the situation was torture in itself. She couldn't drive her sword into her suffering. She could not mash any healing paste. She could only writhe in agony, praying that it would end in the most forgiving way possible – preferably an end which was an alternative to death.

Screams tumbled from her throat as the furnace roared through her body.

"You-" she gasped as one of Will's hands wove stickily through her hair. "Can stop grabbing your axe, you know."

"I know," he replied. If it were any other circumstance, he would flash his usual sheepish smile and pat his axe fondly. But every moan that escaped from the quivering body before him had made him instinctively reach for his weapon. Djaq was in danger, his brain reflexively hissed to him. Her voice was sewn to his mind and his body flinched ruthlessly to every noise that escaped her lips. This was serious.

"Interesting, how I – I'm supposed to be the healer," she panted, "but now_ I_ need healing -"

"Much has gone to Locksley for a physician," Will reassured her, his eyes emerald glades of determination, constantly wincing into her own tired gaze for any sign of improvement. His restlessness spurred Djaq to continue fighting, but she reminded herself that _he_ was supposed to be the passionate outlaw. She had the role of the logical Saracen and it was her job to separate hope from reality. The chance of her surviving was as delicate as the thread of a spider's web and it was time to speak sensibly.

"When the rain's gone," she stretched a watery smile to her lips, "you learn to make do with snow."

"No," he murmured. He understood every one of her wise sayings. Today, she wasn't being wise at all. She was warning him about the end, what may come, and how the gang would go on without her – if it were ever possible. If she died. Not an inch of his soul would allow it. "Not possible."

"It's possible."

It's not possible, he gritted his teeth. The rough carpenter fingers that were moving soothingly through her matted hair clenched a handful of damp tresses, posessively. He was not going to allow her life to slip away. Not after everything they had suffered, not after the lengthy years of Sherwood green and Jerusalem's amber they had endured together. It had been difficult. They were from opposite sides of the spectrum and been united by a mix of Allah and Holy Father, a combination of church candles and cinnamon incense. But their mix-matched God had eased them through.

There was controversy about the marriage between the petite Saracen and lean carpenter, especially in Bassam's home. The disapproving glares, the enraged attacks on their household from religious extremists of both ivory and copper skin. Fortunately, Djaq and Will had been able to create a life again in England, under the mass of woodland canopy, still roaring strangled battle cries against the Sheriff in hope that - one day - they would be able to retrieve an England pure and peaceful for their own mix-matched family. They prayed to their mix-matched God with their mix-matched hearts; the hearts patterned in colour from the lives they lead in both the East and the West, that they would somehow grasp that dream.

Another gasp. She was panting heavily now, the pulse in her temple growing harder against his calloused palm. Her condition was worsening. The blood seeping from her body was growing heavier and heavier. Her stomach churned as she felt the urge to vomit. Time was running thin and miracles were scarce in the forest.

"I think we know how this will end."

"You can't just leave now," Will's voice trembled anxiously as the woman's chest rose and fell. "Not after everything we've done, Djaq. Please."

"I'll miss Much's gravy," she admitted through light humour as she closed her eyes. She hissed as her hot eyelids steamed the moisture on her eyes. A scalding tear escaped and trickled down her golden cheek as she gave a aching smirk, "there will be lots more food, yes. Where I'll go next."

Stop it, Will moaned within himself. Stop smiling about this. This isn't a wound. This isn't a fever from an infected injury. You can't simply dab it with your ointments and wrap it in gauze, Djaq. "This is nothing to joke about."

"It is. Death is just the beginning, my dear," the tired Saracen whispered.

"Beginning of what?"

"Of the next adventure, of course."

Will swallowed, restraining the painful break in his throat, "A journey without me."

It was true, Djaq admitted. Ever since the moment she had been liberated from being a prisoner of war, she and Will were together, although as comrades. And as a married couple, they were entwined together, boosting their abilities and filling the void in their weaknesses; whenever his temper soared, she would cool it; Whenever her eyes were hazy with sorrow, he would wrap his strong arms around her. They were oddly opposites yet utterly inseperable. Like a bow with an arrow. A sword plus it's handle.

The path of life was scarred with tortured flesh and both husband were healing from the aftereffects of becoming orphaned but Djaq felt comforted, knowing that her path had always had another set of footprints alongside her own. Will was never far. She loved the way his arm would always swing next to hers as they strolled through the forest, allowing her to slide her fingers into his large hand. She cherished those nights where she would ink the last label on a vial of ointment and find him twiddling a piece of wood between his finger and thumb in the corner of the camp, she'd happily settle herself beside him to investigate his work. She'd miss the surrogate family of outlaws in the dark depths of Sherwood forest. Above all, she'd miss her husband. She wanted to die with him, not without him.

"Without you," she mumbled, the pain dulling into a throb in comparison to the realisation. Tears streamed helplessly down her neck.

Looking at her small frame, Will's chest tightened in fear. The knitted material swaddling her frail body was damp with liquid crimson and the air was filled with a fearfully familiar metallic scent. Blood. And just so much of it. Pouring mercilessly from her lower body, tracking dark marks over her legs and pooling around her ankles. Watching the red liquid drain from her abdomen and seep through the dense layers of cotton was slowly chewing on Will's heart. It was streaming, second by second, causing Djaq's honey-skin to drain into a grey glow.

"Am I going, do you think?"

"Whatever you say," Will laughed bitterly, moving his trembling hands to her cheeks and caressing the tear-soaked skin. She was terribly pale now and he couldn't bear to see the life fade from her face.

"Seconds are passing quickly," Djaq sighed quaveringly, "and the pain is dying. Tell me, is that good?"

"If it does not hurt, it's better, I guess. How should I know?" He searched her caramel eyes desperately, praying that the loss of pain didn't mean that her senses were ending. If her senses were fading then...

"I cannot always be the healer, Will. The gang will be without a woman to tend to them. You need to listen to what I say!"

I will be without you, Will cursed. Painful memories of Jane Scarlet withering on her deathbed were pushed to the back of his mind, knowing that this was completely different. This wasn't any woman. This was Djaq. Why was life so cruel to take her away from him? Did God think that it would great poking more fun out of the pathetic carpenter? Was the Lord not getting enough amusement from his previous pains, when his father had died? If there was no Djaq, there was no reason to roam the Earth without the one he loves. He couldn't wake alone in his bunk and he couldn't return to the camp without her female body hovering beside the fire.

"No. The gang will always have you. Please, stay," Will wept. His whole life and purpose was crumbling before his eyes. His body shuddered violently as the woman who had become everything was disappearing into nothingness. "I can't do this without you."

Djaq watched her husband kneel at her bedside, his dark hair brushing her elbow, and every piece of composure and conviction melted. She split into a heartbroken sob, fearing for the kind man she was leaving behind in the world. It was ending. Ever piece of determination was being swallowed by the anticipation of death.

"My body may die, but I will never leave you, Will Scarlet."

-- ---------------

A sombre physician burst through the thatched door and Much's cautious shadow fell across the square of light protruding into the blood-scented room. Will immediately flew from the bedside and tore away the soaked blankets from Djaq's aching legs.

Much swallowed nervously as the physician moved, in almost slow motion, as fear rubbed against the painful movement of time and delayed the doctor's careful speech. The friction of fate and hope was all too much. Much couldn't control himself as he leaned against the hard frame of the door and allowed himself to cry into his sleeve for the cruelty of the couple's life. Djaq. Their Djaq. Was suffering from a dangerous womb haemorrage...


	2. the fate of pain

"My petal...don't lie to yourself. You're dead..."

"But being capable of talking to myself must mean that I'm not that far lost, right?"

"Talking to yourself...Does that sound healthy to you, doctor?" The voice sneered.

"No. I suppose it doesn't. But I'm alive."

"Are you sure?...It's pitch black..."

The stealthy throb of blood pulsated through the hollow gloom of nonentity. I'm blind, Djaq hesitated, or I'm in Hell. The vast void was a world of still, black waters. Only now and then, the balance would shift and a whisper of grey would saunter through the dark space and bring with it hushed voices. A slight muffling, delicate yet desperate, struggling to break through the emptiness of Djaq's sightless view to the outside world. Splitting through the gentle haze came a menacing, nasal voice; scorning cynically through her heart.

"I heard my name being called," Djaq insisted, "I just need to open my eyes."

"Go ahead, then. Try."

Panting, fighting to part her heavy eyelids, she failed. Her body was numb. No urgent signal for movement was reaching her limbs or managing to penetrate the depths of her skin. The strangling sensation of stoic disability was too much and Djaq choked in the black extent of her mind, feeling as through a dark ribbon from the hell-like waters had slipped coldy around her neck and she had no escape from the dim space...

"_Djaq?"_ A deeper call echoed through her mind. The grey haze lightened, bringing a celestial cloud of light. The beam strengthened by every second, glowing into Djaq's vision like the soft candle of dawn melting into the horizon. The strangling sensation dissolved and her limbs were weightless, breaking the chains of pain and suffering, allowing her body to float freely towards the warm radiance without control.

She panicked. The calming light was suddenly frightening. "What's happening?" she hissed feverishly into the blinding heat.

"_Djaq?"_

She was being dragged further into the white flare, trying desperately to grip onto something to prevent her from being swallowed by the nearing sun. All failed.

"No. No, I can't go now," Djaq screamed into the growing pool of light. "Will needs me."

Suddenly, the dark world; which was consuming her, vanished. She was stranded in a gush of freedom. Freedom from suffering. Liberation from the needle-like pain painfully dotting every fibre of her being...

-- -------- ---------------------------------

The hollow chime of church bells cried across the stream as a blonde man staggered onto the bare rocks emerging from the steady current. He beckoned a small boy to perch on the crook of his knee and chortled as the child waded clumsily through the waters, still begging to hear the rest of his elder's story.

"So," Allan continued, the rush of the stream behind his solemn words, "she put up a great fight."

The boy pushed further into Allan's lap and peered up into the thick, golden beard and azure eyes. The man was slowly dipping his sleeve into the stream to cup his hand with water and it irritated him at how it was taking his uncle to get to the best part of the tale. "And then?"

"You were born," Allan grinned, wiping the traces of dirt from his neck. "And you should have the look on your dad's face."

"Before I was born? Everyone was excited, yeah?"

Allan's eyes were clouded in remembrance. And pain. There had been pain of course, still slicing as sharply as a mature blade sans its rust, bringing the sting from three years ago. "Not exactly."

"Because of Mother?" the child piped. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and blinked expectantly at is uncle.

Allan sighed. Words could not describe the ruthless heartbreak suffered by the gang after the physician left Djaq's side. No apologies could be said as they knelt beside the sobbing carpenter and looked into the tired, olive face of their dying Saracen comrade.

"Uncle Al?"

The middle-aged man smiled sadly at the tiny boy, looking distant yet fondly at the child's familiar appearance. It always stunned Allan how a miniature scrap of life could resemble two of his greatest friends. The milky brown cheeks, his dirty green eyes, the mop of unruly black hair, the feeble runny nose and knock-knees. The child was, all in all, frail. Yet, luckily, for he was a premature baby, he had survived. "Did anyone tell you what your name means?"

"Um," Nima sniffled, making Allan regret ever bringing such a weak child into the cold stream.

"Means 'blessing', it does."

Nima thought it was better not to ask what a blessing was. The way his uncle spoke in such a serious tone made him squirm. He decided it was one of those wooden terms his father uses, the ones that make no sense at all and when you attempt reciting them, you often get a stern correction.

After a stealthy pause, Nima chirped, "where's Mother?"

Flicking a tear from his eye, the former tavern trickster grinned at the child. He chuckled into the high branches of the apple tree leaning beside the stream, meeting his blue-eyed gaze with the equally blue sky. "Ah, she's hiding up there. Thinking all of this is funny."

"Where?" Nima whispered into the air.

"Here," came a laughing female voice.

Leaping energetically from a secure perch on the lower branches of the canopy, Djaq crouched onto the river bank. After disentangling her clothes from the twigs, she brushed the dry leaves from her shirt and smirked at her son. He always wondered why the other mothers would wear petticoats, except from his own. "I have apples to stew," she retrieved a handful of gleaming fruit from her sagging pockets and frowned, "but isn't Nima supposed to be at home, resting?"

"Nooo," the child smiled sheepishly. Just like his father, Djaq noted.

"Eh, your kid is the skinniest runt I've seen," Allan wiped Nima's nose with his damp sleeve, "but he fights every flu he's taken."

"Every flu," Nima repeated, pushing out his bony ribcage with pride.

"Home. Now," Djaq ordered. She was not having her son's health being at risk in the very slightest.

"But Uncle Al was telling me a _story_ -"

"_Nima Daniel Scarlet_," Allan mocked the accented voice of the impatient Saracen mother, pulling his ankles of the stream as he lifted the small child over the water, "_home, now, please_."

As the disappointed child stumbled onto the river bank, he gave a forlorn glance towards his stern mother and uncle. However, the sulking boy retrieved a playful wink from Allan before shuffling into the brush.

-- ----- ------- -----

"Dad?"

The carpenter heaved his weight from the wooden bench and turned towards his son. His eyes were tired yet his hands, still, were as restless as ever. Constantly creating new toys, contraptions and bowls for his own child was invigorating. Yet, producing tools for the Nottingham market was plainly strenuous and his focus was wavering through the years, although he was determined to earn enough gold to allow his son to receive an education when he was old enough. Nima's curiosity was always a valuable excuse to turn away from his work, "Yes?" he smiled at the runny-nosed boy.

"What's a bellsing?"

"A bell-sing?" Will frowned.

"My name. Uncle Al was saying -"

"Nima," the father chuckled.

"It means bellsing!"

Will Scarlet dusted the wood shavings from his trousers and melded his experienced emerald eyes with his sons' pools of murky green, "it means 'blessing', in Arabic," he corrected and reached forward to brush the black curls from Nima's eyes. "You're a blessing."

There was a pause.

"Imagine that you have no food," Will considered thoughtfully. "And you were starving without anything to eat - for a very long time."

"I'd be hungry."

"And then, out of nowhere, comes a loaf of fresh bread," the carpenter continued, "that could be called a blessing."

Nima nodded.

His father smiled.

The carpenter knew that his son would never understand the meaning of the word of 'blessing', and the meaning itself could not be explained. Even for a grown man, a blessing can never be understood unless he has ever received one. A blessing, Will floundered, can only be felt. The feeling of disbelief after a journey of sorrow. The way, three years ago, the dying Saracen woman fluttered open her eyes open in the middle of death's bloody journey.

A miscarriage was too clear. Djaq's body was frail, withering and pale. The baby, too, was sure to be lifeless and he was defeated. His short-lived family had, no doubt, wasted before his eyes. That night, as Will's body racked with sobs of agony, he was so ready to leave the Earth. He was so determined to grasp Djaq's hand and swim away into the next life, hand in hand. Not alone.

But it all changed.

Hours after the weak, scarcely breathing baby was retrieved from Djaq's dangerous labour, a miracle swam into the dark. A pair of caramel eyes opened to the world. She survived. The child, who was thought to have perished, survived. Both mother and son survived. God had sent his blessing.

Will had never in his life felt so much gratitude, tears of relief streaming helplessly down his neck as he kneeled in that musty hut. Clutching his wife's body, he promised he would do everything to deserve the miracle. Anything to protect his family. The baby was curled into Djaq's heaving chest, unusually small, unable to suckle. But nothing mattered, as long as the child could battle the brutal English weather. The Heavens and Hell, Will decided, could collapse on them all, as long as Djaq and the babe were safe. Both _alive_. Will had trembled, leaning forward to press his lips ever so gently to the delicate crown of Nima Daniel Scarlet. His blessing.

_Fin._

**Thank you for reading!**

**I hope you enjoyed the twist. **

**With Djaq moving towards "the light" and Allan's reminiscence of her near-death, I was hoping to fool you all that Djaq actually died in childbirth...Which is quite common in Robin Hood times. But I'm not that cruel. Plus, we all know how much of a fighter she is.**

**I was considering writing a sequel: Nima, Will, Djaq and the uncles...Suggestions, please?**

**Reviews are love. xxx**


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